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Getting caught in NY’s reign
A New York story to tell you — so sit back. Pay attention.
Our governor has a devoted sister. Like the gov — slim, trim, well-dressed, good-looking — but an out-of-towner.
The gov, stuck in Albany, calls me — since I know the sister. We’ve spent time together. She says, how about the sister and you just have dinner together this one particular night.
OK. I pick a restaurant. Problem? It’s Sunday night. My driver is off. Sister: “I’ll pick you up. I’ll hire a car.” OK.
We are to meet at an appointed street and time. It’s chilly. No sister. Time goes. It’s dark. Big-time raining. I am hungry. Also cranky. This is not her town so mix-ups occur. She is way-the-hell in a wrong direction. No place even in the Sahara to match any avenue resembling our meeting place.
It’s Sunday, so not major traffic but heavy rain. The Ark had less water. I am cold. Hungry. Cranky.
Finally we meet. My own driver knows the place automatically so he could take us to this restaurant blindfolded. I needn’t know an address. BUT — on this dark, muddled, rain-soaked, cold Sunday night my unfamiliar head says this is where it is — it wasn’t. IT ISN’T. The unfamiliar driver, by now, doesn’t like me, cannot find it, and not savvy enough to dredge it out of a GPS.
Hungry, tired, wet, cranky, I tell the driver to go around nearby blocks. The street’s empty. Dark. Late. Drenching rain. No restaurant lights nearby. Passersby are none. Everything’s closed since it’s Sunday. Street restaurants that normally stand directly in front of it on the roadway are newly dark, empty. After repeat passes on a bleak spot where it should’ve been — and was, but not visible with dim lights — there becomes a limit as to how often you can ask a companion: “So how long you going to be in town?”
Finally, we pass another eatery that’s open on a nearby street. I say, “The hell with it. This one’s OK. Let’s go here now.”
Gratefully, they knew us and graciously gave us a table. After we both ordered, the sister says to me: “I had dinner here last night.”
App-etite for praise
The mayor’s social-media accounts: All comments are monitored. Positive comments praising him seem to be boosted. And special filters to detect and hide negative comments. But people are free to snarl at Donald Trump everywhere.
The Post reported that the mayor’s office uses Signal — a phone app to keep what he and his team discuss about the people and the city in secret channels. That should be illegal. Not known is that these Signal chats of the mayor’s influencers are so poorly monitored that even Mother got some of the intel. In one exchange, the mayor is pitched ideas for his cockamamie videos. His staffers debate ideas about raising taxes. They even bash the governor.
The mayor’s wife has told friends his honor has gained weight and perhaps is suggesting he try Ozempic. Maybe it will shrink his tax increase, too. Good idea.
Some say he’s too kind to business. Don’t worry. November cometh. He will get louder and lefter.
So much rain recently on 57th Street that people were going into Tiffany two-by-two.
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.